i've gone inside

the yard
left to itself for two years
now,
has little to say,
less to remember.
the rough cut
of bushes down to nubs.
the slash
of weeds, tugged and pulled
on sore
knees.
the gravel
below the inch of grey
soil.
what grows here is not
my decision.
I let
the wind decide.
I let time, rain, the gentle
moonlight
bring out
what needs to be
alive.
it's no longer my yard,
I've given
it up
to the birds and squirrels,
other life,
I've gone inside.